


Paper tiger

by Willow_Warbler



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Crying, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Turmoil, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Limerence, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, a date but not exactly, figurines, sam feels every emotion he can and almost dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_Warbler/pseuds/Willow_Warbler
Summary: This wasn't a date, no matter how much Sam would want it to be. And he'd want that very, very much.(Sam and Deadman build a model kit together while Sam is slowly dying due to his own intense, frightening feelings).(Direct sequel to "White Tiger")
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Deadman
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Paper tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for giving my story a chance!  
> Soo... do you ever get inspired to write a short sequel to a previous work that ends up almost twice as long as the original?   
> Like I've said, this is a direct sequel to "white tiger" and takes place immediately after. I recommend reading it to get more context on some of the details here.  
> Not much actually happens here action-wise untill the end and the pace is quite slow, just so you know.  
> I also feel like I should warn that Sam beats himself up mentally a lot in this. I think this can be potentially triggering to some readers, so I think it's best to warn you here.   
> English is not my first language, so sorry for any strange wording or expressions :D  
> T for language, sensual themes and potentially heavy emotional content (lots of mental turmoil going on here).

Sam’s excitement over being invited to spend time with Deadman was quickly tainted by anxiety, roughly at the same moment he entered his room. He plugged BB to its incubator, took off his suit and wanted to have a quick nap. Frustratingly, he couldn’t relax. He kept tossing and turning, the cot squeking with his sudden movements, while he was yanked by his hand from time to time, forgetting his cufflinks were attached to the frame. He groaned in annoyance, sitting up and locking the mechanism around his wrist. No sleep for him this evening, so it seems.

Sam decided to take a shower. He scrubbed every inch of his skin, desperate to clean himself of any chiralium that might be sticking to him. He remembered how Deadman was adamant about Sam taking off his porter uniform when he was to talk to Bridget ( _ ~~did he wanted to see you with less clothes on?~~_ ) for the last time. He wanted to be as clean as possible, afraid to bring any gunk to his pristine office. After scraping off half of his skin cells by the time he was done, he was suprised that the hand stencils were still there. He was glad about that, mostly because Deadman seemed fascinated by them. At least Heartman will be happy with so much new reaserch material.

He changed into a fresh pair of pants and the shirt BRIDGES always supplied for anyone using a private room. Sam looked at his reflection in the glass of the weapons’ rack, silhouette blurry and unclear. He looked so… bland. This had to be the first time in his life where he wished he had some more fancy clothes. Porters only owned whatever BRIDGES distributed them or had with their families or friends. He didn’t have a home or even an aquaintance he could ask to borrow clothes from or order something for him. He wanted to look his best.

_This isn’t a date. Don’t make it into something it’s not._

Sam sighed. He knew well it wasn’t. Deadman probably just wanted to be nice to him, since he noticed how pathetically lovesick he was. He seemed like a kind man, well respected and liked, the kind of person who would try to make everyone feel welcome. Not to mention that he was a doctor, so he likely had a nurturing and warm personality in general. Sam would feel so safe if he cupped his face, brought it closer to his and-

Sam shut his eyes, grimacing.

_Focus, dumbass._

A part of his brain was aware of all that, but another one was _so desperate to impress_.

Impress with what? Sam wasn’t sure. He just knew he wanted Deadman to think he was interesting, cool, _worthy, desirable, special_.

Sam went to the sink mounted to the wall. He splashed some water on his face, hoping his skin will absorb it and cool down his brain, which felt like a proverbial frog in a stewing pot. He squinted at his reflection, feeling like he should do something with his face, but not sure what that would be. A shave? No, too obvious, that would give him away immediately. He gripped his hair behind his head, debating if he should tie them ( _ ~~would he want to see my whole face~~?_). He opted to keep them loose, since he only really kept them in a ponytail when he was working, and this was his downtime. He really wanted to just relax and forget about his expedition for one evening. Sam brushed his teeth. Twice. ( _Don’t get your hopes up_ ). He yawned, not bothering to cover up his mouth. He looked into his reflections’ (his?) eyes, puffy, ruddy and exhausted. God, he looked like shit. It would be easy, so easy to just send Deadman a message that he was too tired and spare himself the obsessing over his inadequate looks and personality. Then again, he knew he’s gonna hate himself forever if he’ll do it. There was no winning this. There should be some kind of cream for the bags under his eyes in the cabinet, right? He knew there were some non- perscription painkillers, soap and alike in the cabinets above sinks in all private rooms, courtesy of BRIDGES. He hit the mirror, hard enough for it to shake, but not enough to shatter it. It opened slightly in response and Sam wasted no time in looking through it. As he suspected: some generic BRIDGES-brand soap, mouthwash, painkillers branded with medical team’s logo… and a chapstick.

Cherry scented.

Since when was chapstick included in the private room basic package? Some other porter must’ve brought it and forgot to take it. It was unused, still sealed.

_You should use it._

Sam shivered at his thought, gripping the sink, startled by his sudden thoughts. He never used any sort of makeup before, never feeling the want nor need. Why was he so compelled now? Will this be very visible? Will this give him out? _~~Will he notice?~~_

He sighed and decided to open it. It indeed smelled like cherries. Sam winced.

Ah, what the hell. He can wash it off if he won’t like it. He puckered his lips, closed his eyes and awkwardly dragged it along his lower lip. He rubbed them together and looked at himself in the mirror. His lips looked roughly the same, just slightly more glossy. The scent still lingered, and Sam wondered if anyone else will smell it. Okay, this wasn’t so bad. He’ll give it a chance.

Should he take something with him? Food?

The only thing he had were cryptobiotes, hardly a delicacy. Deadman probably had his own jar of them. Drinks? Again, monster wasn’t exactly fancy. He wondered if he should order some alcohol on the off chance there would be a bottle of wine or champagne in Capital Knot, free for the taking. Did Deadman even drink alcohol? He was a doctor, so maybe not, but hey, who knows.

_Flowers?_

Sam scoffed and shook his head, embarassed.

He’s never actually been on a date, like most people in his generation. With so many people deciding to live alone, dating just kind of… died out. If you were interested, you’d likely meet your partner through the chiral network and only really see them through chiralgram, since travelling between settlements was incredibly difficult and expensive logistic- and resource- wise. Some people even got married without ever meeting their spouse once in person. Even if you managed to find someone who lived in the same Knot City as you, your only place to go to a date was your living quarters. There were no restaurants or coffee shops or places people used to go on dates before the Stranding.

Sam rarely thought about what his life would be like if he lived before the Stranding. Now, however, he could vividly see himself and Deadman in some kind of a restaurant, like he saw in some pre-Stranding movie. He heard italian food was tasty. They could sit in a booth, drinking wine and just talk and laugh and relax. Sam would probably be wearing something nicer, that would show off his best features, but he wasn’t sure on what would that be, exactly. Since it was his fantsy, he was sure he would be charming and interesting and would sweep Deadman right off his feet, even if he knew he would probably be as much of a flustered mess as he was right now. He thought about what he would order: some kind of pasta seemed good, with a creamy sauce and tender, well cooked and seasoned chicken. Or maybe a pizza, with a generous amount of toppings and grease weighing it down-

His stomach rumbled in envy. Oh, right, he forgot to eat anything today. He went to the table near his cot and opened up the cryptobiote jar standing on it. One of the creatures floated upwards, unaware of the danger it was in. He grabbed it in one swift move and threw it into his mouth, doing his best to swallow it whole, not wanting to ruin his minty breath and cherry-flavored lips. He manged to do so, still feeling the digusting aftertaste in his throat.

It was the most frustrating thing about all the food available for porters: it wasn’t satisfying to eat. Sure, it always managed to make him feel not hungry for a few hours, but he never felt _full._ He always felt like he was living on scraps, enough to keep him alive, but not enough to make him feel like this was worth much. He just had to accept that he will never be sated, both physically and emotionally, due to this inherent hunger of his body and mind, making him want things that were forever out of his reach.

As much as he would’ve wanted to be on a fancy date with Deadman and eat the finest food and feel _good_ about himself, he’s not and he will never be. He will eat schlop and disgusting bugs and slowly die from unrequited love and he will have to accept this. The sooner he will, the sooner he can come back to being the stoic „Great Deliverer” who risks his megar life for everyone around and is completely satisfied with their brief prase.

Sam sniffled and scrunched up his nose, squeezing out tears from his prickling eyes. _Pathetic_. He sighed to regain his composure, not wanting to cry. It wasn’t worth it.

The upbeat sound of reciving a message got him out of his thoughts, which wrapped around his brain like a thorned plant. He activated his cufflinks and checked his inbox. It was from Deadman, no suprise here.

„Dear Sam,

I hope my message didn’t startle you awake. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve finished working for today and I was going to start building the kit you’ve managed to save from the MULEs. I thought that maybe you’d like to join me and see what exactly were you delivering. There’s not much I can give you or do to show my gratitude, but this is something I can offer. Please respond in fifteen minutes. I don’t want you to feel obligated if you’re too tired, busy, or not in the mood. We can do this some other time or not at all, if you’re not interested. If you are, however, I’ll be waiting in my office, the same one you’ve been to a few times before.

Yours,

Deadman.”

Sam swallowed, trying to loosen up his throat. It was one thing to slowly go insane in his room in anticipation, but it was another one completely when he actually had to interact with what was stressing him out. Without much hesitation, Sam pulled up the hologram on his cufflinks and pressed „respond”.

„Deadman,

Yeah yeah I’m fine, I want to come. I’ll be there in 20 minutes, wait.

Sam.”

He sighed, tring to gather the courage. This was it. He racked his brain for anything else he might’ve possibly forgotten about. Should he take BB?

He looked at the pod. The kid was asleep, thumb in its mouth. Sam smiled fondly. At least one of them will sleep well tonight. He went to the decontamination case, where his gear was, and took out his backpack, untying Amelie’s dreamcatcher. Sam took it to the pod and wrapped it tightly around it, careful to not jostle it too much.

There wasn’t really a risk of anyone getting in here. Other porters would need to come there with him or his strand, and BRIDGES personel would not have interest in BB. He could leave it here, knowing it would be safe.

He took the sculpting knife he had from the table, folding it and putting it into the pocket of his pants. He doubted it would be useful, but who knows.

\- Goodnight BB.- Sam rasped and left the room, the doors locking behind him.

Sam headed towards the distribution terminal to print himself a new pair of boots, a strange joy blossoming in his chest.

\---------------

The corridors of the Isolation Ward were much different in the evening than during the day. There were way less people around, for starters. Every time Sam would pass next to a doctor or a nurse, lost in their thoughts or fiddling with their cufflinks, he’d hunch his shoulders, trying his damnest to not be noticed. He knew they had no clue why he was here, and even if they did they probably wouldn’t care, but he still felt that spike of anxiety. _They know who invited you. They can sense your desperation._ _They’re laughing at you behind your back_.

Sam knew that these were lies, that these people had matters far more important than what he was up to, but he still felt uneasy and under constant scrutiny. He wanted to get to that office as fast as he could.

 _They can smell that stupid chapstick._

Sam scrunched up his nose and hastened his steps.

When he finally reached Deadman’s office, he was suprised that he didn’t want to run away. He felt incredibly tense and hesitant, but something deep within his mind still compelled him to knock on the door and face this situation head on.

\- Deadman? It’s me!- He raised his voice.

\- Coming!- Sam heard Deadman’s voice and swallowed.

After a few agonising seconds, the door opened, with Deadman standing on the other side. The meagar light in the corridor reflected in his glasses.

\- Sam!- His voice genuenly excited.- Come in, come in!

He stepped aside, ushering Sam in with his hand. Sam entered the room, praying that nobody saw or heard him. The door closed behind him. Nowhere to run now.

The office had a completely different feel at night. It was much darker, the pristine white walls and floor now shrouded in darkness. The only source of light was a table lamp. _~~It’s like a candle-lit date~~_. What Sam assumed to be a back wall when he was here before turned out to be a giant window that was covered up with panels during the day. They were folded now, allowing the moon and stars to bathe the room in a soft glow. It was so long since he actually saw them, forgetting about the pale light they emitted.

\- You don’t like the sun?- Sam asked, still staring through the window at the first quarter in the sky.

\- I don’t mind it, but it’s distracting.- Deadman laughed, making his way towards his desk.- I prefer subdued light.

\- How can you work in this place then?- Sam tilted his head.

\- I have to manage somehow. Light in my office is already dimmer than in the rest of the building, and my glasses are shaded too. I could work only at night, but that’s sadly impossible. Here Sam, take a seat.- He gestured to a chiral-printed, white chair in front of his desk.

\- You noticed you had no chair for guests?- Sam said sarcastically, though with no bite.

\- I rarely have guests, truthfully.- He laughed awkwardly.- I had to order to have this one printed just for you.

_~~Just for you.~~ _

\- Thanks.- Sam said quietly, sitting down.

He could already tell that his back is going to hurt tomorrow.

\- Want some tea, Sam?- Deadman stood near a small table near a window, with a kettle and a few small baskets.

\- Uh… Sure.- Sam said, unsure. He rarely drinked tea, with it being quite an uncommon plant in the post-Stranding world, monster suiting him just fine, but he didn’t hate it and he was willing to drink acid if only it was Deadman making it for him.

As the water boiled, Sam kept staring through the window in front of him. The stars shone, likely fashioned into some constellations Sam couldn’t name. His eyes kept being drawn to the moon. He always felt a strange symapthy towards it, even when he was a kid. He used to sit on his bed, staring at it when he was afraid of falling asleep due to DOOMs visions. He knew he would see Amelie when he would, but that brief, happy time with her was always a sort of reward for suffering through the nightmares first. Ever since he was a kid, he always though about the line „humanity can go anywhere, even to outer space” when he looked into the night sky. He wasn’t sure if this was something his brain came up with on its own, or was it a line from a movie or a book he saw. He had a hunch it was likely the latter, he doubted he could come up with something poetic and wistful like this on his own.

\- Seeing something interesting, Sam?- Deadman noticed his longing stare, amused.

\- Been a while, I guess.- Sam shrugged, still staring into the sky.

\- Since you saw the night sky?

\- Yeah. I’m usually too tired to stay up late.- Sam’s eyes focused on the moon.

\- But not now?- Deadman asked, slightly ironically.

\- Nah, I’m fine.- Sam narrowed his eyes.- Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.

\- Well, that’s… comforting to hear. Sugar?

\- Yeah?- Sam answered absentmindedly, only then realising how that sounded like.- I mean, uh, yeah, yeah, one cube.

_Dumbass._

He watched Deadman pour the boiling water into two cups, and using some kind of small tongs to grab sugar cubes from the tray, dropping one in one cup and two in the other. There was something fascinating about watching him do this, like he’s done it a hundred times before, and that was likely the case.

Deadman brought the cups back to the desk, handing one to Sam. It was chiral printed, with a small basket filled with tea leaves hanging off the side, soaking in the scald.

\- Is everything in this room chiral printed?- Sam asked with irony.

\- Has to be, sadly.- Deadman went back to the table with with tea ingredients.- It’s much cheaper to mass print furniture, small items, decor… That’s why we should cherish and conserve everything we have from the pre-Stranding world.

\- I agree.- Sam smiled fondly, happy that he was mostly shrouded in darkness.

\- Well Sam, I’m not sure if you like sweets, but I should at least offer some, since I have them.- Deadman brought a tray with what seemed like cookies made with cocoa powder mixed into the batter and set it on the desk.

\- You bake?- Sam eyed them, wanting to taste but not wanting to reach out too fast.

\- Oh, no, no, no! I don’t have the time or talent!- Deadman said bashfully.- It’s a gift from a mother of one of the young porters we’ve helped.

\- You get a lot of gifts.- Sam said, mostly stating the fact and reaching for one of the cookies slowly, not wanting to seem too eagar.

\- Comes with the profession, I suppose.- He shrugged slightly.- Medical team directly impacts the lives of ordinary citizens the most. Corpse disposal and Security do just as much, people just tend to not notice. Porters don’t get gifts from people they help?

\- I do, sometimes.- Sam downcasted his eyes.- I got a hat from Nick Easton.

\- I bet you look really handsome in it.- Deadman said, his voice painfully sincere.

Sam pursed his lips. How can Deadman just say stuff like that, with such ease? If he tried complimenting him, his words would be stuck in his throat like a fishbone. He finally bit into that cookie he took, crumbs falling onto his laps.

Delicious. It’s been so long since he ate any sort of sweets. It tasted like cocoa, as it promised, and Sam could detect a small hint of cinnamon, nutmeg, or both.

\- Happy to see you like them so much.- Deadman said, amused.

Sam froze.

_He caught you._

\- Why do you think so?- Sam looked to the side, swallowing his bite.

\- You had that tiny little smile on your face.- Deadman’s voice adoring.- Adorable!

Sam felt his cheeks heat up.

\- Well.- He huffed, trying to save at least some face.- They’re pretty fuckin’ good.

He quickly ate the rest, in two bites, wanting to savour the taste, but not willing to risk dropping his facade any further.

\- Speaking of gifts.- Deadman lifted the cargo container that was leaning on the desk, putting it gently on the desktop.- I really can’t wait to open it up! I still can’t believe you got it for me…- His voice got softer with emotion.

\- Heh…- Sam looked away, bashfully.- No problem, it just… felt right. You help me and BB so much, and I know how much you like these figurines…

_~~I wanted to see you smile. I wanted to make you happy. I wanted you to notice me. I wanted to hear you say I did good.~~ _

\- Thank you so much Sam. Sincerely.- Sam could feel Deadman’s soft gaze on his face, despite looking into the darkness of the room.- This has to be the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long time.

Sam felt warmth pooling in his chest, like he just drank some alcohol. These words truly were intoxicating, feeling like someone was gently brushing strands of hair behind his ear. He really hoped none of this was too visible on his face.

Deadman opened the container, and gently took out the box from the shock absorbing foam cargo was transported in. He put it down on the desk, like it was a precious relic, then closed the cargo case with a click and put it down on the floor.

The box was mostly white, with some minty-green accents. It featured a drawing of what Sam imagined will be the finished kit: a bipedal, slim, white robot, with a shoulder mounted cannon. He wanted to touch it, but restrained himself, afraid of ruining something about the box. He felt like this was Deadman’s show, and he was only here as a humble guest or assistant.

\- Ah, I almost want to leave it in a box!- Deadman said, barely containing the excitement in his voice.- They’re always so beautiful and high quality! It’s such a shame we have to cut it up.

Deadman turned the box in his hands untill he found the opening.

\- Ah, tape, of course.- He scratched the gap in the cardboard.- I should have some scissors he-

\- Wait a second.- Sam stopped him and started to dig around in his pockets.- Here.

He placed the knife on the desk, unfolding it in the proces, and quickly pulled his hand back.

\- You brought your knife?- Deadman picked it up carefully.

\- Yeah. I just, I dunno, thought it might be useful?- Sam shrugged, eyes downcast. Did he come off like he was way to excited about this whole thing?

\- Well, you were right.- Deadman said, amused.- Although maybe not in a way it was intended to. I suppose it comes with your work, right? Thinking ahead, being prepared for everything…?

\- I guess.- Sam smiled shyly, unsure if he should say something more.

Deadman cut the tape and opened the box, the unplesant sound of stiff cardboard moving filling the room. 

\- I want to take off my gloves, would that be ok?- Sam looked at Deadman’s gesticulating hands, covered in black leather.- This is detailed work, after all.

\- Sure.- Sam snorted, amused but feeling oddly nice about the fact that he asked.

\- That’s good to hear.- Deadman pinched the tip of his left middle finger and started to pull.- I love doing these without any sort of hand protection, just makes it feel more personal, you know? Maybe you don’t, and I just sound wei-

\- No, I get it.- Sam murmured, as light-heartedly as he could manage.- I prefer to take my gloves off when I’m sculpturing during a delivery too. Makes it feel like, I dunno, I have more control over the details or something.

\- Happy to know I’m understood.- Deadman smiled, and Sam had to look away, feeling like he was staring into the sun.

Deadman neatly placed his gloves on the desk. Sam couldn’t keep himself from staring at Deadman’s, now bare, palms. His skin was pale, incredibly so. He likely haven’t been in direct sunlight in a very long time, especially given his penchant for being active during the night. What caught Sam’s attention were surgery scars at the root of his thick, short fingers, with clearly visible stitchmarks. He was tempted to ask about them, but backed away, not knowing if Deadman will appreciate the question. He himself knew how touchy the subject of old scars could be. Sam suspected they might have something to do with the ghastly scar on his forhead, which was even riskier to investigate. This discussion will have to happen another day.

He decided to take a sip of his tea. It was still slightly hot and a bit bitter, even despite the sugar, but he didn’t mind. If he was picky about his food or drink, he’d starve a long time ago.

Deadman pulled out the contents of the box with one slow move, like he was savouring every second. Insinde, there were plastic frames, holding tiny parts of armor, protected by thin, plastic bags. There was also a skeleton that was likely supposed to serve as the titualr frame.

\- All right.- Deadman clasped his hands, weaving his fingers together. _~~I wish he held mine like this~~_ \- This is the frame.- He pointed to the black skeleton.- This is going to be the base of the figurine. We have to pop out the armor and attach it.

\- How do we know what goes where?- Sam asked, leaning his head slightly forward, to get a better look at the figurine.

\- The armor sets are numbered, with my knowledge of frame arms and your natural knack for sculpturing, we can do this.

Sam lifted his head to look at Deadman and… his throat clenched, smothering a startled yelp. He was so close and he didn’t even noticed. They were about four inches apart, so agonisingly close. Sam could swear he could feel the heat of his breath, but maybe it was just adrenaline coursing through his veins making him feel things that weren’t there. How did he not realise this? His skin would crawl the second he felt someone so close his face.

_~~Kiss him. Now it’s your chance. I know you want to.~~ _

\- Let’s start then, shall we?- Deadman asked, either not noticing Sam’s fear or being courteous enough to pretend to not notice to avoid embarassing him any further.

\- Y-yeah.- Sam slid back onto his chair, his cheeks feeling on fire.

\- Okay Sam, I want you to pop out the parts from the frame.- Deadman handed him one of the armor sets, Sam meekly taking it.- It’s B1, for the legs.

\- Mhm.- Sam nodded, staring at Deadman’s white palm, grabbing on the opposite end.

Sam took the sculpturing knife from the desk and sliced open the transluscent covering with one swift move. He put it on the desk, stopping himself from throwing it on the floor at the last moment. He gently pressed the blade to the plastic holding the piece in place.

\- You want to use the knife?- Deadman asked.- You can just pop them out with your hands, you know?

\- Using the knife is more precise.- Sam answered, focused on his task.

\- I see.- Deadman said, amused.- You seem to value precision and detail in your other works.

\- I do. It’s a challenge.- Sam smirked, gently cutting out a piece of the armor.

\- I’ll stick to the intended method, if you don’t mind.- Deadman took another sheet and opened it.

They worked in comfortable silence. Sam felt himself relax slightly, his face cooling down. Working on something small was always soothing to him. He tended to hyperfocus on whatever he was doing, allowing him to forget about his embarassment. He briefly took his eyes off his work and looked around the room, where the roof met the walls, noticing something glinting in the moonlight.

A camera.

\- The cameras are on?- Sam asked, throat tight. He wasn’t sure why this stressed him out, he should be expecting that.

\- Right now, no.- Deadman explained, not looking back at Sam.- They’re only on during the day. I requested for them to be turned off at night, since there’s simply no need for anyone in the Security department to sit all night to watch me work and lose precious time they could be spending home with their family or sleeping. The cameras in the corridor and monitoring my vitals with the cufflinks should suffice.

\- Okay.- Sam answered, feeling the weight drop from his heart. He was already stressed, he didn’t need to know his awkward attempts at bonding and fun _~~(and flirting~~_ ) were recorded.

Sam finished cutting out all of his pieces and placed them on the desk.

\- You’re done?- Deadman’s voice suprised.- You work fast. Something you’ve learned to do while creating on your outings, I suppose?

\- Nah, just practise.- Sam shrugged, a small smile on his face.- You can’t do something for years and not get at least a little better at it.

\- Or at least faster?- Deadman quirked his eyebrow.

\- Or faster.

Deadman finished working on his own parts and gently pulled the ones Sam prepared closer to him. He started to attach them to the black frame, each new detail accompanied by a quiet click. Every now and again he consulted a small book that was included with the kit, rustling the pages. Deadman’s face was incredibly focused. Sam wondered if he looked like this during surgeries or experiments, filled with such dedication, care and attention. It was relaxing, looking at him work. The quiet clicking of plastic parts, the darkness, the feeling of safety… Sam was tempted to just lie his head on the desk and slowly fall asleep. He leaned closer to get a better look.

\- Oh, Sam, my apologies, where are my manners!- Deadman laughed, clearly flustered, Sam’s heart beating a bit faster.- Would you like to join in?

\- N-no. I’d rather watch. It’s… relaxing.- Sam put his chin on the edge of the desk and splayed his right hand in front of him, hoping it will cover his blush.

\- Really? What’s so relaxing in this?- Deadman asked, returning to work.

\- I dunno, doing or watching detailed work is calming?- Sam fumbled for an excuse, eyes focused on the way Deadman attached an armor piece on the higher part of the leg with painstaking precision.

\- I can attest to that.- He smiled.

After the legs were finished, they each took another sheet of parts and started to work on them. Sam felt himself relax, his mind plesantly blank. He prefered this to any rabid thoughts that ate through his grey matter alive. Sam gently scraped the plastic holding the armor for arms in place.

\- Sam, I don’t mean to pry, but I simply must ask.- Deadman pointed at Sam’s right palm.- It’s a tattoo, right? Not an innate part of your biology, like the stencils?

\- My tattoo…?- Sam stopped in his tracks. He turned his hand to look at the cartoony skull on the back.- Y-yeah, it’s a tattoo.

\- Does it mean anything? I-if you feel comfortable with sharing that, of course.- Deadman was clearly fascinated, but seemed to rein his enthusiasm, not wanting to crowd Sam and make him uncomfortable. Sam could sense that and appreciated it, even if he felt perfectly fine.

\- It’s a logo of a pre-Stranding art gallery, couldn’t find much on it. Just liked the design.

\- When did you have it done?

\- It was kind of a gift to myself for my sixteenth birthday.- Sam shrugged, still staring into the x-es in place of the skull’s eyes.- I found this guy who did tattoos in his living quarters in Central Knot, where I lived with Bridget. I talked to him and told him I want to have a small tattoo on the back of my palm and that I wanted it to be done in secret. He accepted, and I sneaked out.

\- You sneaked out?! BRIDGES personel didn’t catch you?!- Deadman almost dropped the sheet he was working on.

\- Nah, I had my ways. It’s not like they were super strict anyways. I was still shaking though, I was terrified, since I’ve never done something like this before, sneaking out... So I get to the guys door and I knock. This huge guy, muscular as hell, arms covered in tattoos, long ginger beard and bald as fuck opens up. I tell him with my dumb, meek voice that I’m Sam and I’m here for my appointment. He just… laughed and invited me in.

\- I bet he just thought you were adorable, he wasn’t laughing at you.- Deadman tried to comfort him. Sam almost scoffed, but just couldn’t do it. Deadman was just too sincere for his own good.

\- I don’t know what he was thinking, not like it matters anyway. I sat down in a chair he had, with all these needles next to it and I was just shaking. I showed him what I wanted tattoed, he said sure and asked if I’m ready to start. I said yes, I had to really fight to open my jaw. And then he grabbed me by my wrist.

\- Oh no!

\- I almost fucking screamed, but I didn’t. I didn’t want this guy to think I’m even weirder than he already thought I was. I just sat there, jaw clenched, my whole body jittering, staring into a wall in front of me. He had a painting of a tiger there, like one of these japanese scroll ones? I distinctly remember that. I think he wiped my hand with a disinfectand or something? And he got to work. I tried to focus on the buzz of that machine, but I couldn’t. I could only feel his grip on my wrist, his breath, the heat of his body…

\- He didn’t notice?

\- Not everyone is as observant as you.- Sam answered, trying his best to make it sound like a compliment, but it ended up too dry, making the tone unclear.- Just what happens when you get lost in your art I guess. So I just sit there, trying my best not to puke, and I don’t know what happened, was it the pain or what, but I just started to sob.

\- Awww!- Deadman said sympathetically.

\- Yeah, tears went down my cheeks and fell onto his bald as fuck head. He noticed, how could he not, and he stopped, let go of me like my hand burned him and backed off. He asked if I was in pain, I told him no, I just have this stupid phobia related to touch and my skin breaks out in rashes. We noticed that my whole fucking forearm’s red and irritated and the tattoo is only halfway done. I started to cry harder, because I couldn’t come back to get it finished, it had to be done in one sitting. I was so mad at myself, that I’m pathetic, that I should’ve just gritted my teeth and got it done…

\- I’m impressed you’ve managed to withstand so long, knowing how strong your aversion to touch is.- Deadman looked into Sam’s eyes.- I’m no therapist, but gradual exposure to what you fear is a good technique from what I know, it’s understandable you couldn’t take it all at once. I think you’re too hard on yourself.

This felt so good, like Sam’s face was gently cradled by Deadman’s hands. This was everything he wanted. Sam could feel his heartbeat quickening in excitement. He felt like he should feel bad about being so desperate, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

\- Maybe.- He managed to mutter.- But it wasn’t all terrible. He started to apologise, told me I should’ve said something before he started, that he’d put on some gloves or something. So I sat there, sobbing in panic, and he made me some tea. I almost fucking choked on it because my throat was so clamped. He was digging through every single cabinet and box he had, throwing shit on the floor, untill he finally found a pair of thick winter gloves. He asked me if I wanted to keep going and if the gloves would help.

\- And did they?

\- Yeah. I finished drinking and told him I want it done all today and I’m going to grit my teeth. He kinda, I dunno, laughed? Not like I blame him, since I was such a little hardass, but he sat down to work again. I was still shaking and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t that terrible.

\- So what helped you, the gloves?- Deadman started to attach the parts he prepared to the figurine’s arms.

\- Yeah, that and that I felt like, safer, maybe? That this guy made me tea and looked for the gloves out of his own will to make me feel better? He didn’t have to do it, but he still did it.

\- I think there’s more kind people around us than we realise.- Deadman was still fixated on his work.

\- Maybe you’re right.- Sam said quietly, staring at Deadman with embarassingly loving eyes, using the small moment where he was sure Deadman won’t catch him. Sam grabbed his mug, and drinked more of his tea, slightly cooler this time, but still just as bitter.- He managed to finish it after that. Then, when I was leaving, he told me how to take care of it so it wouldn’t get infected, we said our goodbyes and I went back home.

\- Sam, don’t take this the wrong way, but… Did you not know it would involve someone holding your arm down…?

\- I did.- Sam huffed.

\- And you knew this will be uncomfortable to you?- Deadman looked at him quizically.

\- Yeah…?- Sam quirked his eyebrow, wanting to get to the point.

\- So… Why did you decided to do it?

\- I dunno…- Sam shrugged, casting his eyes down.- I wanted to prove to myself that I was… adventurous or something…

_~~I wanted her to notice me for once.~~ _

\- Do you regret it?- Deadman asked, his voice hesitant, like he thought he forced Sam to talk about something he didn’t want to.

\- Nah. At least I have a story to tell.- Sam briefly looked at the skull for the last time and pushed the parts he’s been cutting out and putting down on the desk towards Deadman.- You have any?

\- Tattoos? Oh, no, no!- Deadman laughed, shaking his head ( _ ~~he has no clue on what he does to you~~_ )- My skin is like parchment paper, I doubt it would accept a tattoo as easily as yours. I can’t even spend much time in sunlight.

Sam felt a bit saddened. It seemed like Deadman was mostly bound to BRIDGES facilities, unable to go out anywhere further than the forcefield around Capital Knot. It must’ve been terrible to not be able to touch grass, feel the pebbles crunch under your feet, hear the river rapids, feel the cool wind on your face… Sam felt like he would go insane if he had to live like this.

\- Y’ ever want to just go out? Into the wilderness, I mean.- Sam grabbed another set of pieces.

\- Hm… Maybe sometimes, just to see what it’s like. Although I doubt I could do this safely, I don’t have your agility, endurance, or impressive musculature.- He chuckled.

Sam felt a blush creeping up from his collar. He had no clue how to interpret this statement, his heart wanting it to be a flirtacious compliment, while his brain desperatly reined him in, trying to pass it off as a simple, if suspiciously worded, fact.

\- The outside world really isn’t safe for humble civilians like me. I’ll stick to my lab untill the BTs stop roaming the world.

\- What if they were gone?- Sam asked, his voice oddly hopeful. 

\- Then maybe I’d reconsider. What would you recommend?

\- Me? Uhh…- He responded dumbly, eyes casted down. He wasn’t sure what to say, unused to someone asking him for his opinion.- I dunno, caves are nice. They’re quiet, nothing can get you, you can just sit there and rest…

\- And sculpture?- Deadman asked, amused.

\- Sure, why not.- Sam shrugged, still a bit tense.- I… I think you’d like the beach. The real one, not the spiritual one.

Sam wanted to slam his head on the desk. He felt like every word he said sounded insincere or awkward. Speaking was never his forte, he always spoke as little as he could in any conversation. Despite that, something about Deadman’s presence made his tounge unravel and made him want to at least try to say anything more eloquent than his usual grunting and humming. He gripped the knife harder to focus on something different.

\- Why do you think so?- Deadman’s voice was quiet.

\- I… know you’re interested in Beaches, right? The real ones are very similar to the spiritual ones. Just as cold and unsettling.

\- I suppose that’s how you see them, huh? I can’t blame you, knowing about your condition. But I still want to visit a beach and form my own opinion. Two different people can have an entirely different experience about visiting the same place, right?

\- Yeah. I hate the BRIDGES buildings, way too fucking clean and fake. But you seem to feel… at home here.- Sam looked around the room, at the shilouettes of white furniture and the fake fern.

\- I, on the other hand, would probably panic if I were too far from a Knot City. Outside world is just a tad too unpredictable for my tastes.

\- Not all of it is out to kick your ass.- Sam leaned more comfortably in his chair.- The hot springs you can see sometimes are great. Perfect temperature, make your body hurt less, and they have that specific scent…- The memory alone made the hair on Sam’s back rise.- I could just sit there for a week.

\- That does sound nice…- Deadman sighed, Sam pursed his lips and looked away.- Heartman, one of my colleagues had one made for his reaserch station in the mountains. To help with his heart problems, supposedly, but it wouldn’t suprise me if he just wanted it to relax in. Not that I can blame him.

\- I’ve talked to him.- Sam pushed the parts he cut out over to Deadman, the two of them seemingly finding a method to work together.- Dunno why he’s so desperate to get my skincells and whatever gunk I bring from outside.

\- Heartman’s a bit… eccentric.- Deadman smiled apologetically, starting to attach the main body armor pieces.- He’s really devoted to his reaserch, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. I hope you won’t take his request too personally.

The fond tone with which Deadman regarded Heartman made Sam feel a strange pang in his chest.

_You’re jealous._

Sam scrunched up his nose. This was low, even for him. Deadman was allowed to have friends and colleagues and life outside of him. It’s just that these two knew eachother for much longer, and had much more in common… Sam didn’t know Heartman too much, he’s never even seen the man, but from what he knew, Hertman was smart, and classy and cultured… Sam was just the dumb muscle of this operation, bumbling and simple, only here because someone needed to carry the cargo and q-pid between the settlements.

_He’ll never look at you like you look at him._

\- Sam? Are you all right?- Deadman’s soft voice got him out of his spiral.

\- Huh? Yeah, yeah, sorry, got lost in thoughts here for a second.- Sam shook his head, trying to focus on what was happening here and now.- Can I ask you a question?

\- Sure!- Deadman snapped another part onto the frame.

\- You wouldn’t like to have a reaserch station like that?

\- I’m not sure what they’d have to offer me to leave my colleagues, assistants, students and home in Capital Knot, but I suppose I wouldn’t be completely opposed.

\- Maybe your own hot spring, like Hearman’s?- Sam scraped at the plastic, focused on the small shapes that will make up byakko’s head.

\- Hah, for sure!- Sam felt his ears tint red.- Though due to how much work I have, I’m afraid I won’t be able to use it as much as I’d like. I suppose I’d authorise you to come and go as you please.

\- So I could have a soak?- A smirk pulled on Sam’s lips.

\- Yes! You’d come, bring me my supplies and could use my personal hot spring as a reward.

There was something alluring in that concept: Sam and BB, relaxing in an outdoor sauna, with Deadman working inside. Both of them aware of eachother’s presence and feeling comfortable and safe with that knowledge.

\- Sounds great, but I think you wouldn’t be able to get rid of me.- Sam huffed, still smiling.- I would just stay there for weeks.

\- Why would I want to get rid of you?- Deadman said fondly.

Sam bit his tounge to keep his composure and to stop the tears suddenly prickling his eyes from flowing down his cheeks. His chest felt hollow.

\- I dunno…- He rasped, racking his brain for an excuse.- I’d starve to death. You’d just find me dead there one morning.

\- One, you can’t die. You’d be right back.- Deadman said with a playful familiarity.- And two, I wouldn’t let you starve. I would bring you dinner every day to that hot spring. 

\- You would?- Sam felt like his voice was too sincere, and quickly added- I thought you don’t cook.

\- I’m no expert, sure, but I can cook a little.- Deadman huffed.- Following a recipe can’t be too difficult. What would you want to eat?

\- Carbonara.- He mumbled.

\- Oh wow, you didn’t hesitate for a second on that one, you had that lined up!- Deadman laughed, and Sam just grumbled, hitching his shoulders in shame.- Hey, I’m not laughing at you, I think it’s sweet! You like italian food?

\- Never tried it.- Sam reached for a cookie still on the plate, stuffing it in his mouth.

\- But you’d want to?

\- Mhm.

\- I think I could manage that.- Deadman reached out for the pieces Sam prepared, not bothering to wait untill he gives them to him.

\- And then what?- Sam felt a sudden surge of bravery.

\- Hm?

\- We’d eat dinner, and then what?- Every single muscle in his body was tense. Despite that he tried to keep his voice even and sure.

\- W-well…- Deadman looked to the side, like he was knocked out of balance. Sam felt a strange joy and excitement. He could play this game too!- I suppose I could join you, if you wouldn’t mind.

Sam tilted his head, not sure if he heard him right. „Join” him…? What did he-

_In the hot spring, dumbass._

He felt like his entire chest was constricted, like his ribs were a tight corset on his lungs. Goosebumps flared up on his entire back. The worst part about it was that he honestly couldn’t say if this situation mortified him or made him excited. He was tasked with transporting human cargo before, occasionally bathing with them, complete strangers, in a hot spring they’ve found in the wilderness. He had no problems with them seeing him naked, nor did Sam had any problems with seeing them in the nude. The situation was a bit different, he supposed: it was one thing to have a quick dip, even with a stranger, when you’re both exhausted, in pain and ready to collapse any second. It was completely another to sit in it for leasure with nothing to do but relax, with the man you’re harboring a very obvious and embarassing crush on. He knew Deadman wouldn’t try doing anything to him, he respected him too much as a person and as a friend, but what was the alternative? Sitting there, staring into the shore Deadman would probably love to see from his house, and just… enjoy eachother’s company? He had to ask himself a question: Would he mind?

\- I… I guess I wouldn’t…- He felt like he couldn’t get enough air out of his lungs. Sam stared at his hands. He could relate to the skull tattooed on his palm: his eyes probably looked like two x-es too by now.

\- Really…?- Deadman stopped what he was doing, like he couldn’t believe what Sam just said.- That’s… wonderful to hear.- Deadman’s smile, warm and inviting, made Sam feel at least slightly more at ease, like he hasn’t made a fool of himself too much.

Sam kept staring at the floor, grasping his pants on his knees. He had no clue what Deadman’s endgame was in this situation. The feeling of uncertanty was suffocating; Was he just being friendly, and Sam’s psyche, depraved of any meaningful human interactions in years was stewing in its own delusions, about Deadman maybe wanting him back, while the other man only saw innocently spending time with his friend? He desperatly ached for it to be something more; for these comments to mean „I like you, you’re attractive, I want you to be mine and mine alone”. Sam felt like he was hanging from a rope, holding on with only one hand, one slip away from falling into a pitch black chasm that will swallow him whole.

\- And with that, byakko’s complete!- Deadman’s happy voice made him snap away from his thoughts.

Sam let go of the fabric in his hands and lifted his eyes up onto the table.

The figurine stood proudly on the desk. It was just as detailed as the one Deadman had on the shelf nearby, the one he saw when he was here for the first time. It was about seven inches tall, and seemed powerful and confident. Even in the dim light, the white armor popped off, not getting lost in the darkness. Sam wanted to feel happy, but the turmoil in him made his brain feel like it was just a big, dull ache.

\- You shoud pick a display pose!- Deadman picked up the figurine and put it closer to Sam.- I don’t want you to feel like you missed out on all the fun parts!

\- I don’t feel like that.- Sam murmured ( _ ~~I cherish every moment I can spend with you~~_ ).- I don’t wanna break it.

\- You won’t, don’t worry. It can move its arms and legs, after all.- Deadman winked and Sam managed to smile tiredly at him.

He gently picked it up with his trembling fingers, afraid to death of ruining it. He stared at the model, turning it in his hands, trying to get the feel of what pose would be appropriate. Byakko seemed powerful and strong, like a leader, or a valued team member. Sam stretched the robot’s right hand, and cautiously pointed its head upwards, so it was looking at its palm. He grabbed a sword which came with the set and snapped into Byakko’s hand. Deadman’s gaze was on him, studying every move. Despite that, Sam didn’t feel cornered, like he usually did when under such scrutiny. Maybe it was because he observed Deadman’s hands for so long, this just felt… natural. He actually felt included and important in the process. In this sea of confusion Sam felt right now, he decided that this feeling was worth clinging to, even if just for a brief moment.

Byakko was ready. Clad in white armor, holding its sword, it certainly looked impressive and ready to be placed on a shelf.

\- Here you go.- Sam placed the figurine on the desk.- That’s my suggestion for the pose.

\- Oooh!- Deadman picked up Sam’s offering and started to look at it from different angles, turning it in his palms.- I love it! I know exactly where I should put it!

He stood up from his chair, its legs scraping against the floor, Sam following him with his gaze. Deadman made his way to the shelf Sam noticed Mingwu when he came here for the first time. If he only knew that this innocent chat would lead to him slowly dying of love a few weeks down the line. Sam wasn’t sure that if he knew it beforehand, he would keep talking to Deadman about his hobby that evening instead of just bolting with his BB as soon as the results came in.

Sam observed Deadman fiddling with different items on the shelves and felt himself falling more and more ill. It was as if something was festering in his chest, caged by his ribs, desperatly trying to claw its way from his throat and past his mouth. On one hand, he wanted to stay here for as long as he could, enjoy Deadman’s warmth, his voice and his presence, but on the other he wanted to run as fast as he could to his private room, never to have to face Deadman again, and just cry himself to sleep, desperate to silence whatever it was stirring in his body, hungry for attention and acknowledgment.

Just as the last time he was here while he was exhausted, his brain started to supply him with beautiful images which will never come true and will undobtedly come to haunt him in his dreams, amongst his DOOMs visions and other assorted nightmares: Waking up next to Deadman in the morning in the house they shared, laughing together as they ate breakfast, relaxing with him and BB in their outdoor hotspring, watching the waves of the sea crash against the shore as the sun sets, watching a movie in the evening, with Sam’s head on Deadman’s laps as he played with his hair (maybe the one Deadman recommended him some time ago? What was it about? A quiet girl falling for a monster…?), Deadman inviting him to bed when the night comes, with Sam being able to nuzzle up to him, to hear his slow heartbeat and breathing, able to sleep peacefully for the first time in his life. A small part of his mind reminded him about his aphenphosomphobia, that human touch is painful and disgusting and it _hurts,_ that it innevetably leads to forming bonds and wonderful people wasting their time on someone as worthless and pathetic as you, who brings death and loss everywhere he goes, but Sam just couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Not today, at least. The rabid fear became replaced by longing and sadness, and Sam wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. His shoulders slumped, the knots in his stomach released, and his brain became dull and heavy, like it was replaced by a wet rag someone just finished doing their dishes with and didn’t squeeze out the filthy water.

\- Sam…? Can I ask you a question?- Deadman came back to his chair. His voice was gentle, and he folded his hands on the desk in a way a doctor asking his patient questions about their health might. He really got into character.

\- Mhm.- Sam murmured, not having the energy to answer more eloquently.

\- Is… something worrying you?- He asked softly, but also with a bit of uncertainty, like he wasn’t sure if this is how he should proceed.

_He’s onto you._

\- Why’d you think so?- Sam asked. He would probably get more defensive in any other situation, but he just couldn’t muster the strenght.

\- You suddenly seem lost in your thoughts and very sad.- His voice was so filled with concern it felt like he was twisting a knife in Sam’s heart.- Are you not feeling well? Nightmares won’t let you sleep?

 _Like you wouldn’t know_. 

\- Nah.- Sam’s head was hung low, his narrow eyes staring into the floor dispassionately, as he tried to keep himself from crying.

\- Are you worried about Amelie?

\- No.- Sam answered quietly.

\- Something’s wrong with your BB?- He kept trying to help.

\- No.- Sam scrunched up his nose.

\- Did I overstep your boundaries?- Deadman asked, his tone slightly anxious.- I’m so, so sorry if that’s the case and I’ve made you uncomfortble and didn’t see your signals, I promise that won’t happen aga-

\- No!- Sam almost meowled, his voice higher pitched with emotions. Tears trickled down his cheeks and fell to the ground.

\- L-look Sam, I’m sure that whatever’s bothering you, we can figure something out!- Deadman’s voice got slightly higher. He probably noticed Sam’s tears, despite the other man’s wishing he wouldn’t.- I know I’ve said I’m not a therapist, but I’m still a doctor and your friend! I know we can find a solution to your problem together. But to do that, we have to know what’s exactly wrong. The sooner we’ll know, the sooner we can take some steps to fix it.

_He sounds just like Lucy._

And with that realisation, Sam finally let go of that rope and plunged down into the chasm.

Sobs wracked his entire frame. More and more tears fell onto the floor. He couldn’t bear to look at Deadman, too ashamed of his feelings, too afraid to find out what was his reaction. Sam could sense that Deadman was restraining himself with every ounce of willpower to not touch his shoulder or hug him to comfort him, even now mindful of his phobia and boundaries. Why couldn’t he just fall for some dickhead who disrespected him on every step?! That would make it so much easier to just try and nip his feelings in the bud, not allowing them to blossom and grow in his chest, threatning to suffocate him now.

This whole situation was a mess. HE was a mess. Sam somewhat expected that he will finish this night in tears, but to break down crying in front of the man he was in love with? Pathetic. But even more pathetic was that some part of him was hoping this night will end well. He supposed that he embarasssed himself enough and there’s no point in hiding his feeling anymore (and it’s not like he was in the right headspace to make up an excuse on the spot anyway). The sooner he will accept the sting of rejection, the sooner everything can come back to status quo.

\- I…- Sam sniffled, unsure on where to start.- I started feeling weird when I brought you BB after it had that attack. You started to talk about that figurine you had, Mingwu, and I just didn’t want you to stop. I had a thought that it could be nice if you told me all about those figurines when I was lying in my bed, trying to fall asleep, like a fucking bedtime story or something.- He scoffed at his stupid wishes, but Deadman didn’t say anything, allowing him to speak freely and without cutting in.- And then I got hurt on that one delivery, when I almost bled out, but your team saved me and I needed a blood transfusion? You took care of me, you brought me my dinner and asked me if I was feeling well and said all those nice things about my art…? Nobody has cared for me like that in years. It’s dumb as fuck, I know, but I honestly felt like I was noticed for the first time in my life. And then you called me in that cave when I got caught by timefall, and you sounded so sad that your kit was stolen by MULEs. I couldn’t sleep for days, and even when I managed, I just had these dreams where you were so grateful that, that…- Sam heaved, words getting stuck in his swollen throat.- That you grabbed my face and kissed me so hard my knees got weak! But the craziest part was that I WANTED this to happen…! You’re so kind, and smart, and you help so many people, I just want to see you smile and laugh and be happy… I feel like such a dumbass around you, like my brain is jelly, my stomach hurts and my hands are sweaty, I…- Sam lifted his head, with one final act of courage.- I think I’m in love with you…!

Sam heaved through his clenched teeth, like his lungs suddenly had more space to expand in his chest. He felt a bit lighter, like whatever was taking up space beneath his ribs has left. His muscles were still quivering under his skin. The anticipation was not much better than fear or sadness.

Deadman just stared at him with wide open eyes. It was unclear to Sam if he was suprised, appaled or just unsure on what to do. Sam wanted to scream from frustration of how many mixed signals he got tonight, but he stifled it, opting for a bitter sob instead.

\- Just so you know, I don’t expect anything from you. No kisses like in my stupid fantasies. I’m serious.- Sam sniffled, face twisting into a frown.- You don’t owe me shit. I felt like you were sending me some signals tonight, but maybe I was wrong. If that’s the case, just tell me that so I can go to my private room and sleep. I won’t speak of this again.

Sam sighed, exhausted. His mind felt a bit clearer, like any emotion clouding it left his body with the tears. Now, he mostly felt drained and wanted to go to his room, fall down onto his cot and dream of a sweeter world, where Deadman wanted him back.

\- Who said I want you gone?

Sam’s eyes widened. He lifted his head up to look at Deadman.

\- Huh?

\- Well, to be honest, I was kind of planning to confess to you tonight too.- Deadman looked away, gently scratching his cheek, that was slowly starting to get pink. Sam’s heart started to pound in his chest.- I was hoping my attempts as flirting were more clear, but it never was my strong suit. I didn’t want to overwhelm you, knowing how much you don’t enjoy human interactions. I was already so excited and honored that you accepted my offer and I didn’t want to ruin it by coming onto you too strongly. I sincerely apologise if I confused you, I was sure you were playing along.

This had to be a dream. It was just like his other nightmares. Sam expected to wake up any second now, finding himself on his cot in his private room, his face wet from the tears that he cried out in his sleep.

\- So you do…?- Sam couldn’t finish from excitement.

\- Yes Sam, I love you too.- Deadman stared into Sam’s ruddy eyes, with incredible fondness.

Sam almost couldn’t breathe. The sensation was much different from how he felt before: instead of feeling constricted, it was as if his lungs wanted to expand more than the ribcage allowed. More tears leaked from his eyes, his body unable to contain so much joy and relief.

\- F-for real?- Sam barely spat out. He must’ve looked like a mess, heaving from excitement, with soaked cheeks and a dumb grin, but he couldn’t say he cared much. Not when Deadman looked at him with such adoration.

\- Of course „for real”!- Deadman scoffed, but it was clear he wasn’t too serious.- I wouldn’t joke about something like this! How can someone meet you and not fall in love with you? You’re brave, strong, selfless, kind… You bring hope to every place you visit. I’m the lucky one in this scenario, honestly, I was so worried that I would scare you away by accident. I expected to fail tonight, I mostly just wanted to get it off my chest. Never in my life I’d expect you, of all people, to be interested in me… You could have almost anyone you want.

\- But I don’t want anyone!- Sam said, voice uneven and a bit too loud due to emotions.- I want you!

\- Well, you have me, Sam.- Deadman laughed.- And I hope that I can have you.

\- Hell yeah you can!- Sam grinned, his breath stedying slowly.

\- Wonderful. Now then…- Deadman sighed, closing his eyes, a smile still on his lips.- Do you want that gratitude kiss you’ve been dreaming of?

Sam felt his entire back tense up, a shiver going up his spine. This was it. The logical conclusion of what happened tonight. The thought of bodyheat so close to his face, the scent of another person, the press of skin on him… it still made his stomach knot. It was one thing to fanasize about being close to somebody, and another thing entirely to actually be. He was disheveled and far from pretty already, with red, baggy, puffy eyes, but he was also so tense and out of practice that this will never be good. But… Deadman was looking at him right now. He also knew about his aphenphosomphobia, and the fact that he was likely a terrible kisser. And he still offered it. Sam really hoped that Deadman was prepared for this to go less than perfect, not like in movies or books.

\- I… think so.- Sam shrugged.

\- Sam, I don’t want you to feel forced to do this.- Deadman said gently. He really had that „doctor talking to their patient” voice down perfectly.

\- I do, it’s just… I dunno, I was never good at this.- Sam looked to the side.- I’m awkward and out of practice.

\- You think I’m not?- Deadman chuckled.- I’m probably even worse! It’s not about being good. I don’t know if this will help you, but I don’t expect anything from you. You can be as terrible as you want. IF you want, of course.

\- I do. I wanna try, at least.- Sam rasped, his voice hoarse from crying.- Can you… put on the gloves please?

\- Of course! I was just going to.- Deadman picked up the gloves from his desk and started to slide them on.- Anything else I shouldn’t do?

\- N-no, just, like, no biting or scratching…- Sam pursed his lips, still unable to look at Deadman’s face.- You?

\- Pretty much the same as you.- Deadman balled up his gloved hand in a fist.- Sam, I don’t know how to ask this, but… you do remember that your skin gets rashes when someone touches you, right?

\- Yeah…?- Sam tilted his head.

\- You’re not worried that your, ekhm, lips might get swollen?- Deadman scratched his head.- I-I don’t mind, I just don’t want you to feel embarassed tomorrow. I don’t want to cause you any discomfort.

\- I’ll be fine. I’m not seeing anyone in person tomorrow and any grams won’t pick up on it. And even if they do, fuck it, what’s that to them.

\- I like that approach.- Deadman smiled, fiddling with his second glove. Sam smiled coyly.

Sam let out a shaky sigh. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. His mind was still plagued with self-doubt, that he’s going to be awful at it, embarass himself in front of the man he just confessed to, panic and do something stupid… he felt that what they had between them was so fragile, if it even could be called anything at this point. But Deadman just had this calming presence that made it impossible for Sam to lose his cool completely. Even if he will fuck up, even if he will be terrible Deadman won’t mind. Sam wasn’t sure if this was a part of Deadman’s personality or if it was something he had to learn for his profession, but he was immensely grateful to the universe that he was the way he was.

\- Okay Sam, I think I’m ready.- Deadman flexed his fingers.- I have the gloves on like you asked. Just so you know, my lips might be a bit… cool. I have bad circulation, but I hope this won’t bother you too much. Are you ready?

\- Yes.- He said, as evenly as he could.

\- You’re not going to vomit on me?- Deadman laughed awkwardly.- You know, from stress?

\- N-no, I promise.- Sam pursed his lips.

\- Okay then, I trust you.

Sam leaned over the desk, squeezing his eyes shut and puckering out his lips. He knew he looked like a dumbass, but he was determined to do this, and only this way he could make sure he won’t panic and do something stupid.

Deadman also leaned closer. Sam could feel the warmth and moisture of his breath on his face. Hairs on his back rose from nervous anticipation.

\- If you want me to back away, just… just tap me on the shoulder, okay?- Deadman murmured.

\- Mhm.- Sam nodded, not wanting to risk opening his mouth.

Sam felt Deadman’s lips on his own. The second he felt his touch, his mind flared up with warnings ( _ ~~RUN! GET AWAY! DANGER!~~_ ). The rash started to spread on his face, rushing blood stinging his delicate skin. Despite that, Sam balled up his fist. He wanted this, goddamit! He knew he wasn’t in danger, quite the contrary! He just couldn’t submit to his brain’s panic. His fear petrified him and made him unable to reciprocate the kiss.

Deadman wasn’t kidding when he said his lips were slightly colder than they should. Sam was actually somewhat grateful for that- it felt like the sensation helped to cool his overheating brain that was surely boiling in his skull by now. Sam loosened up his shoulders and slowly opened his fists. There was nothing to fear. The first, most intense wave of panic has waned. He still felt tense, unable to enjoy himself as much as he’d want, but it was still much better than a moment ago. Deadman’s kisses were slow and gentle, he clearly didn’t want to overwhelm him. Sam slowly started to kiss back, unsure and timid, but at least he felt like he was doing something, and not standing there, paralized in fear. He could swear he felt Deadman smile a little, though at this point, he had no clue what was real and what was just in his imagination.

He felt a gloved hand slide into his hair, fingers tangling into the strands. It was enough so Sam can feel it, but not enough to hurt. The best part was that the touch on his scalp didn’t hurt or itch afterwards. He almost wanted to cry again, relieved and happy. Sam dreamed about having someone play with his hair even before he met Deadman, but he always shunned it as a fever dream of a desperate mind, who desperatly craves something it cannot have. His whole relationship with Deadman kept proving to him that maybe he’s not doomed to living on scraps: be it of food, affection or safety, and that, in the end, maybe there is hope for him. That maybe he can live well, love, and be loved in return.

Sam lifted his left hand onto Deadman’s nape. It seemed like his entire body was cold, even in a situation like this. Sam didn’t mind, but just found it amusing. He wondered if Deadman would have a different experience if he was in a hotspring than him. Would it be better for him or worse? Was the feeling of Sam’s warmer hand on his cold skin as nice as the other way around for Sam?

He was suddenly taken out of his musings when Deadman put his other hand on Sam’s neck and brushed upwards, against the grain. Sam was so caught off guard that a shiver of euphoria went up his spine and his breath caught in his throat. _Fuck_. His neck was always incredibly sensitive, a simple brush of fingers against it in the right context and he was a mess. What he didn’t realise, is that the gloves Deadman wore actually had a _rough, leathery texture_ , which made it feel so foregin and so _good_ , intensifying the sensation even further. For once, his disgust with skin-to-skin contact payed off. Hot blood rushed through his body, and he could feel the sparks of plesant tension on his skin. Deadman must’ve read through him, because he kept brushing his neck in slow, deliberate moves. Sam’s breath became labored, his mind becoming overwhelmed with stimuli. It was so different from the usual reaction to touch he had, where his first instinct was to jump away or run. Sensitive skin was both a blessing and a curse, since it amplified every sensation, positive and negative.

Deadman must’ve found a nerve that was even more shallowly embedded than most, because Sam moaned in bliss. He felt like the wet rag in his head was replaced by finest quality velvet. A small voice in his head tried to convince him that he was disgusting and weak, to get so unraveled over a simple kiss, that he was really showing off how desperate he was, but Sam couldn’t be bothered to care. He felt like, for a brief moment, he lost all those inhibitions he had in his mind, all the doubt, the fear, the disgust, the shame, and just be allowed to enjoy himself for _once_. After spending so long alone, afraid, depressed, anxious and barely holding on, having a brief moment of feeling safe, loved, accepted and _seen_ didn’t seem that outrageous.

Deadman gave him a brief, final kiss and backed away, out of breath. The second Sam stopped feeling his touch, he started to immidietly miss it. He really wasn’t right in the head anymore. He felt hot and buzzed, like he was drunk and his veins were filled with tea.

\- Sam, you… you really don’t have to flatter me…- Deadman panted. His cheeks were only slightly pink, likely due to his bad circulation. A stark contrast to how Sam thought he looked like now.

\- I… I didn’t…- Sam suddenly felt embarassed. It was strange: he was used to feeling ashamed for his different longings and traits, but this wasn’t exactly the same. This seemed temporary, and didn’t run as deep as shame, like it only related to this situation and not him as a person.- How did you… know…? I thought you were supposed to be… terrible…

\- Lucky guesswork.- Deadman looked away, seemingly bashful but with a grin. Sam envied his relative confidence and ease about the whole situation.- I thought that I should try, and you didn’t say anything about me not touching it before, so I went for it. And I’m glad I did.

Sam laughed awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. He was kinda glad he did too, even if he didn’t have the guts to say it outloud.

\- Sam…?

Sam looked up at Deadman, who narrowed his eyes in focus. Deadman quickly licked his lips.

\- Did you... use something on your lips, like a lipstick?

_Oh no._

He forgot all about that stupid chapstick. His concerns from when he was putting it on seemed so distant now. He hiked up his shoulders and pursed his lips.

\- It tastes nice. It’s cherries, right?- He asked, seemingly unaware of Sam’s embarassment (or fully aware of it, and just wanted to tease).- Where did you get it?

\- Why, you want one of your own?- Sam found the confidence to lift his head up and smirk.

\- Sure, why not? What flavor do you like?- Deadman asked, a genuene smile on his face.

This was too much. Deadman was too sincere for his own good. Sam hid his face in his palms, a reflex he had since childhood.

\- Hey, Sam!- Deadman laughed. Sam could briefly sense the warmth radiating from his palm over his shoulder, but it seemed like he quickly backed away.- I didn’t mean to embarass you, I think it suits you! I bet it’s a good protection from the cold out on deliveries…?

\- It’s not… I don’t… wear it usually…

\- You put it on for me…?

Sam pressed his palms into his face harder and hitched his shoulders higher, a groan escaping from his mouth. Even the tips of his ears felt hot. He felt like he was caughed, now that Deadman knew he was hoping their meeting will go this way for long before he even came here.

\- Sam, that’s so sweet!- The desk creaked quietly, Deadman probably leaning slightly closer.- I probably should’ve done something special for you too, now that I think about it.

\- Like what?- Sam rasped, still hiding his face.

\- Well, I’m… not sure.- Deadman said, his voice trailing off.- Any requests?

\- Cook me some carbonara and we’ll be square.

\- I can arrange that.- Deadman laughed.- Can I touch you? I’m still wearing my gloves.

\- Yeah.

Sam felt the weight of Deadman’s palm on his shoulder. He sighed, trying to wind down at least a little.

\- Come on Sam, no need to be embarassed. Can you look at me?

Sam spreaded his fingers, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. Deadman’s eyes weren’t clearly visible due to bad lighting and his glasses not being fully see-through, but Sam could feel his gaze on him, more coaxing than demanding. He sighed deeply, gently dragging his fingers down his wet, burning cheeks and swollen lips. Deadman leaned back into his chair and yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his palm. Sam immidietly answered with the same, turning his head to the side. All his muscles loosened up, his brain felt filled with fog, and he had to fight to not close his eyes and doze off on the desk in front of him. He felt absolutely drained, but it was much different than his usual exhaustion after a long and grueling delivery. In the past, after Lucy died, he had days where he wanted to sleep for months to escape his inner turmoil and guilt, but his dreams didn’t offer much escape either, and the only thing that would help him was crying untill his mind was too exhausted to conjure up anything to torture him with. Now, however, he just felt… happy. Peaceful. Maybe even hopeful for the future, just a little bit.

\- I’m sorry Sam, but I’m exhausted.- Deadman lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes.- I can see that you are too. Would you mind if we wrapped this up for today?

\- Nah, I agree. That desk looks so- Sam yawned so hard his jaw cracked.- comfortable right now.

\- I wouldn’t recommend it. Believe me when I say I’m saying from experience.

Deadman lifted himself from the chair and started to go towards the door. Sam followed, quickly nabbing a cookie from the plate and shoving it into his mouth, wanting to enjoy not feeling ashamed and guilty for a little while longer.

\- These are so fucking good. I wish I could give one to BB.

\- Well, technically, if you eat one with breakfast and plug in the pod you will share it, in a way, since you two have the same bloodstream.

\- Yeah, but it’s not the same. It’s like comparing eating a normal dinner and having that lab paste. Totally different experience.

\- Maybe if our reaserch goes well, we can add a function to open the pod, so you can crumble the cookie and throw it in, like it’s a fishtank.

Sam snorted, too tired to come up with anything to answer. The only thing he could think about was that he loved Deadman so much his heart hurt and that he’s going to collapse any second now.

They got to the door which opened as they got closer, likely a sensor that read Deadman’s cufflinks. Sam stepped outside, into the corridor. The light was dimmer than during the day, but the glare still irritated his already exhausted eyes.

\- Sam, I really had a lot of fun with you tonight. Thank you so much coming.- Deadman smiled.

Sam responded with the same, his legs wobbling underneath him.

\- I hope that we can meet again soon. I’ll stay in contact, call me whenever you’ll have a mo-

Sam pressed his lips against Deadman’s cheek. His lips twitched, a new way of rash blossoming on his skin, but he didn’t mind. His lips were fucked up already, what did he have to lose?

\- Goodnight.- Sam whispered and took a step back.

\- W-well, goodnight to you too, Sam.- Deadman said, clearly flustered and scratching his cheek, badly stifling a smile.

Sam nodded, Deadman briefly waved to him and went back into his office, door closing behind him. Sam exhaled heavily and lifted his head up, closing his eyes and grinning. He started to make his way back to his private room, ready to fall onto his cot and sleep for however long he’ll be allowed to.

He should probably think about finding some rashes cream. He had a sneaking suspicion it might be very useful down the line. 


End file.
